Notes from a Spinning Planet—Ireland Read Online Free Page B

you forget it.”
    “Aye, lassie,” says Ryan, putting on a pretty good Irish accent. “We Irish dinna take kindly to being confused with those Brits across the way.”
    “That’s pretty good,” I tell him. “But then again, you do have Irish roots. It probably comes naturally to you.”
    Of course, this only encourages him, and he continues with his Irish chitchat as we walk back to the car. Soon we are on our way again. I’m not sure if it’s the food or the driving or just the excitement of being here, but despite my lack of sleep, I am feeling wide awake and enthused about everything.
    “This is so incredibly beautiful,” I say once we’re out of town and driving through some very lush, green countryside.
    “It’s not all that different from some places in Washington State,” observes my aunt.
    “Maybe,” I reply, “but the houses and everything look so much older and more charming.”
    “That’s true,” she says. “They definitely have lots more history. But their climate is very similar to the Northwest, although I believe they get more rain.”
    “More rain?” I question this. “I didn’t think anyone got more rain than western Washington.”
    “Trust me,” says my aunt. “Ireland does.”
    “In fact, it looks like we’re going to get rained on up ahead,” says Ryan.
    Sure enough, in about five minutes the sky grows seriously dark, and we are driving through a deluge.
    “Must be how it stays so green,” I say as I watch the wiper blades swiping furiously back and forth and hope our little car won’t hydroplane off the road.
    “Connemara is one of the wettest parts of Ireland,” says my aunt. “I think I read that some parts of this peninsula can get up to three hundred inches of rain a year.”
    “Three hundred inches?” I echo with disbelief.
    “I think we must be driving through that part right now.” Ryan actually ducks as a big truck whooshes perilously close to us (on the right side of the road, which still seems totally freaky to me), and as it goes by—so near that I think we’re going to scrapesides—it pushes a wave of water over our car, and it feels like we’re riding in a submarine.
    Sid slows down, and I think we all take a collective deep breath. “Driving around here can be a little unnerving sometimes,” she finally says.
    “Do you want us to help out?” I offer, not sure that I’d really be much help. I probably would’ve totally lost it back there with the truck.
    “I wish,” she says. “But you have to be twenty-five to drive a rental car over here.”
    “Too bad,” I say, feeling relieved.
    “Aye, lassie,” says Ryan, “ya can drink, but ya canna drive.”
    After about ten minutes of intermittent showers, the rain seems to be letting up some, and Ryan actually spots a gorgeous double rainbow off to our left.
    “That must be our promise for a good visit,” says my aunt. Then she puts on the brakes so quickly that I actually grab the seat in fear.
    When I look out the front window to see why she’s stopping, I’m surprised to see a small herd of sheep meandering across the road. They have curly wool that resembles dreadlocks, long rounded horns, and cute dark faces.
    “I think those are Scotch Blackface sheep,” I announce, pleased that I’m finally able to contribute something a tiny bit informative.
    “How do you know
that?”
Ryan asks, like he thinks I shouldn’t be breaking out of my role as village idiot just yet.
    “For your information,” I tell him in a Miss Know-It-All tone,“it just so happens that I raised sheep for 4-H, and I’m something of a sheep expert, thank you very much.”
    Fortunately, he laughs at this.
    “In fact,” I continue, “my dad was doing some online research about farming in Ireland last week. He told me that sheep are really big over here. Farmers raise them for their meat as well as their wool. In fact, I think he said there are actually more sheep than people.”
    “That sounds about